19 Apr 2009

Cavalli’s La Didone at St. Ann’s Warehouse, Brooklyn

Perhaps I’d better just describe what I experienced, Captain.

It
wasn’t something I can summarize in the ways we were taught at the Space
Academy. It was entirely outside the range of human experience in this
department. The senses of “sight” and “hearing”
don’t really cover the phenomena. Not all the phenomena.

There were monitors, Captain — monitors, everywhere! Two at the back
of the stage showed a forgotten (well, I never head of it!) 1965 Italian
sci-fi-horror flick dubbed into English, with cheap-o special effects and a
predictable Twilight Zone-style switcheroo ending. And when I say they
showed it on two monitors, I should mention that they had fixed it so one
monitor showed it left-to-right, the other right-to-left (mirror images, you
see), and they were side by side, so intimate scenes between two people seemed
to involve four, and guys who were alone on the eerie planet seemed to have
doppelgangers. Two other monitors near the front showed props that were seen,
discussed, important to the story (swords, daggers, mirrors, anti-meteor
colliders) but not actually present on the stage. When Queen Dido (did
I mention her? Well, she was very much there, impersonated and sung by Hai-Ting
Chinn, who has a lovely clear sexy soprano without that prissy baroque groove),
overwhelmed with guilt, looked in a mirror, it was a monitor that showed her
face decaying before our eyes (and, presumably, hers), that is: the mirror
showed us what she was thinking!

In front of the monitors showing the movie (which was also performed by live
actors), singers with genuine operatic voices (it was difficult to tell if they
were enhanced or not — usually, I thought, not) performing Francesco
Cavalli’s 1641 opera, La Didone. That’s right, Captain
— arms and the man they sang. Aeneas, son of Venus, fleeing the
destruction of Troy, crossed the seas on winds summoned by the vengeful goddess
Juno (can immortal beings feel such wrath? — you tell
me), to be shipwrecked near the city of Carthage, where he won the
love of the widowed Queen Dido, aided her in a war against her rejected suitor,
King Jarbas (driven mad by love), seduced her (with his brother Cupid’s
help) during a wild boar hunt (shown), and then left for Italy, abandoning the
poor lady (at Jove’s command, because fun’s fun but someone has to
found the Roman Empire), whereupon Dido contemplates suicide. Happily (in this
version, unlike Vergil’s, and Purcell’s, and Berlioz’s, with
which you may be more familiar), the sword is only an image on a monitor, so
Dido is rescued by King Jarbas, and they defy the Fates, the gods, the poets,
and live happily ever after. (The ending of the background movie, Terrore
nello spazio, or Planet of the Vampires, isn’t quite so
happy, but it does tie in to the refugees-colonizing-the-locals theme.)

Stage right was a pit band — the usual suspects — keyboards,
theorbo, accordion, electric ukulele, throbbing feedback that sometimes
(especially when gods were singing — you know, Juno, Jove, Neptune
— gods, goddammit!) threatened to drown out the music, but the
gods all had microphones so in fact they could be heard through the jumble.
Anyway who expects gods to be comprehensible? Even in outer space? And once,
when Cupid took the form of Ascanius and sat in Dido’s lap, enabling him
to wound her with the dart of love (for his brother Aeneas), an actor (Ari
Flakos, who was also the starship captain) played the cherub while a soprano
(Kamala Sankaram) sang his music in little-boy voice.

There were two sets of surtitles: one the text of the opera as it was being
sung, the other the text of the movie as it was being spoken, looped, repeated,
played with. The opera text, I’m glad to say, was sung
“straight.” Sometimes singers spoke lines from the film (and even
began to play characters in it); sometimes actors spoke lines from the opera
(and even began to play characters in that). It was easy to keep the
two sets of performers and the two sets of titles from getting mixed up, if you
knew both stories. I mean, most of us read Vergil’s Aeniad in
Space Cadet School, right? But who remembers that stupid movie? However,
Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit, as Mrs. Shaw, my old Flight
Training Instructor, used to say.

Among the singers, the standout was certainly Hai-Ting Chinn in the title
role — I also have fond memories of her Poppaea last summer at the
Poisson Rouge (that asteroid we landed on in Greenwich Village, Captain). She
has a curiously vibrato-less sound in a voice of great beauty, and she is a
fine actress — I would like to hear what she can do without microphones
and over a real orchestra. Tenor John Young made a worthy, sexy Aeneas and
Andrew Nolen’s voice, difficult to appreciate when he sang basso deities
through microphones, was also well deployed as a love-maddened countertenor
Jarbas. (I know countertenors all have deeper voices when not singing, but I
don’t think I’ve heard one use both voices to sing in the same
performance before.) Kamala Sankaram has a character soprano, more tricky than
attractive, but she can play the accordion too. Other performers included Scott
Shepherd as an identity-wracked spaceman, Ari Flakos as the pensive captain,
Hank Heijink (what a great name!) as the ghost of Dido’s husband, and the
Wooster Group’s ever-deadpan first lady, Kate Valk, strolling in and out
of jokes and genres with her usual grave laughter. Jennifer Griesbach appears
to have been in charge of the musical side of things, and there was so much
beauty in the score that the distractions only seemed to enhance it.

The experience was enjoyable on many different sensual planes, but —
this sort of thing could get out of hand. These creatures — do we
understand what their intentions are? They may be feeding on our inner, human
craving for opera in ways scientists do not perfectly comprehend. If we do not
take a firm stand, they may absorb us, control us, rewire us, detach us from
our original natures, create a new sort of art-work of the future. This could
be the look of opera in ages to come. This could be the end of music-drama as
we know it.